


Sneaking Up on Fate

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (2012), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Light Bondage, M/M, Mythology - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 06:16:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson is Fate. Clint Barton won't die. It's really rather frustrating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sneaking Up on Fate

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warnings: Light bondage, minor violence, and vague mentions of suicide.
> 
> This was supposed to be short, but it became kind of...long...

Fate liked to consider himself a fairly easygoing person. When people got to the afterlife, they were often surprised to find out that such an unassuming person was “Fate.” One memorable person had even asked if he was Heaven’s tax accountant before he’d told them who he was. Well, he’d heard someone say that fate often snuck up on you. He really couldn’t agree more. 

But really, “Fate” was such an imposing and formal name. It was more of a title than anything. “Fate” wasn’t too much of a mouthful, but image trying to say “The Grim Reaper” all the time in a casual conversation. “Nick” was much easier. Of course, most people called him “Fury,” but they’d known each other for so long that being on a first name basis was perfectly acceptable. Fate had often wondered how the humans would react if they found out that “Death” and “Fate” were actually just “Nick” and “Phil.” Yes, his name was “Phil.” “Philip J. Coulson” if you wanted to be technical. 

Phil sighed as he walked into his office, collapsing into the chair behind his desk. He’d had a particularly stressful day. As in, he’d just had a long meeting with one Tony Stark. Stark had always been a little annoying, but recently he’d become just _intolerable_. Somehow, he’d gotten it into his head that he didn’t want to be War anymore. Which was, frankly, ridiculous! It wasn’t like he could just _quit!_ Admittedly, Phil’s job would probably be a lot easier if War no longer existed, but they couldn’t just get rid of one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse! 

Phil rubbed his hands over his face in frustration, trying to dissipate some of the tension in his body. He really needed a drink. Or a vacation, one of the two. Of course, considering his job, he couldn’t really just “take a vacation” – the world would fall apart without him. He honestly wasn’t over exaggerating. 

Phil was distracted from his increasingly melancholy thoughts when he heard a knock on the door, Jasper Sitwell letting himself into Phil’s office without waiting for a reply. Jasper and Phil had become pretty good friends, as Jasper was the head of the Reapers’ Accidental Deaths Division. 

“Hey, Phil,” Jasper greeted, a wide grin spread across his face. “Maria and I, along with a few others, are going to go out for drinks this evening, to celebrate her promotion. Like to come along?”

“Maria was promoted?” Phil asked, pleasantly surprised. 

“Yeah,” Jasper said. “She’s head of the Suicide Division now.” 

“That’s great,” Phil replied, a small smile on his face. “Although I always thought that she’d end up in First Degree Murder.”

“Same here,” Jasper nodded, a contemplative look on his face. “She’s surprisingly good with suicides, though. There’s also this new Reaper, who I don’t think you’ve met yet, who’s really good. Romanov, I believe her name was. I wouldn’t be surprised if she took over First Degree in a few decades.” 

“A few decades?” Phil asked, eyebrows raised. “She’s that good?”

“Yeah. She’s pretty vicious,” Jasper answered. “You know, I think she’s coming with us tonight. Maria and I can introduce you.” 

“Sure,” Phil replied. “What time?” 

“Eight, I think,” Jasper said. 

“Sounds good,” Phil nodded. “I better get my work done, though.”

“I’ll let you get to it,” Jasper grinned. “See you later, then. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t,” Phil replied as Jasper stood and walked back out the door, closing the office door behind him, leaving Phil to his work. 

Phil sighed, not looking forward to the tedium of planning a few thousand more deaths before calling it a day. He opened his desk drawer, carefully removing the age old book from its compartment, flipping open the surprisingly thin notebook, his fingers ghosting over the countless names hidden inside until he came to the end of the list. His eyes followed the careful curving of ink as another name was slowly written down by an invisible author. 

His eyes went wide as he read the name. Clinton Francis Barton. 

Phil blinked, certain he was reading it wrong. It was still there when he opened his eyes again. Fuck. You see, every person’s name is only written in Fate’s book _once_. That’s because you only die once. However, this was the forty seventh time Phil Coulson had come across the name “Clinton Francis Barton” in the past three months. 

At first he’d thought that it was just some sort of mistake. Maybe one of the new Reapers had accidentally forgotten to collect his soul, or maybe there were just a whole bunch of Clinton Francis Bartons all dying around the same time in some sort of freaky coincidence. Maybe someone had switched out his book as some sort of prank, or maybe he just needed to renew the spell on it. There was just no way that he could have _not_ died. When Fate wrote down your death, you died. It was just that simple. 

But for some reason, Clinton Francis Barton _was not dying_. 

Phil was very glad that he’d agreed to go have drinks with Jasper and Maria. He had a feeling he’d need them. 

\---

The bar was nice enough. It had been a while since Phil had last been on Earth, much less in New York City, but, well, there were no bars in Heaven and Steve, a nice angel who Phil suspected was the reason for Tony’s sudden aversion to being War, refused to set foot in Hell, no matter how good their vodka was. Natasha, who Phil had been recently introduced to, seemed rather disgruntled about Steve’s stubborn refusal, but apparently the bar that Tony had found in New York had decent enough vodka to placate her. 

“How’re you doing over there, Phil?” Jasper asked, distracting Phil from his thoughts and drawing him into a conversation with him and Maria. 

“Fine,” Phil replied. “I guess I just had a tough day today.”

“Why? Did something happen?” Maria asked, still serious, but more relaxed than Phil had seen her in quite a while. 

“Well, kind of,” Phil replied, a little reluctantly. “There’s this name that keeps popping up in my book.”

“Which book?” Jasper questioned, taking another sip of his beer. “Are people naming all of their babies the same thing or something?”

“Not that one,” Phil said, shifting in his seat a little awkwardly. “The other one. You know, where I write down everyone’s deaths.”

“Is there some sort of serial killer targeting people with the same name?” Maria asked, curious. 

“No,” Phil answered, grimacing. “I wish it was that simple. The same name has been written in my book forty seven times in the past three months. It’s a pretty specific name, too – middle name and all. Somehow I don’t think that there are that many Clinton Francis Bartons in the world.” 

“Huh,” Jasper said, face scrunched up in thought. “Well, I don’t have any answers for you.”

“It’s just kind of frustrating,” Phil lamented taking another gulp of beer. “I’ve been doing this job for hundreds of years now and I’ve never run into a problem like this before.”

“I can’t think of any solution right now,” Maria conceded, sipping at her drink thoughtfully. 

“You can worry about it tomorrow,” Jasper said, patting Phil on the shoulder. “The whole point of this is to wind down a bit. I mean, when was the last time you went out?”

Phil was apparently a little too slow in answering. 

“See!” Jasper exclaimed, looking vindicated. “I know this is Maria’s celebration, but it was also partially an excuse to drag you out of that horrible office of yours.”

Phil was about to protest that his office was not “horrible” but he was cut off by Maria. 

“You know, that guy over at the end of the bar keeps glancing over at you,” she said, giving him a pointed look. “Maybe you should go over and talk to him.” 

Phil blushed, hand tightening around his glass. He had actually noticed the frequent looks that the man had been shooting him, but he’d been convinced that it was just his hopeful imagination. Phil just looked like some average businessman out with a few colleagues, while the guy at the bar looked like something out of Hollywood film – slim but muscled with tousled dirty blonde hair and intense green-blue eyes. 

“If he’s looking at anyone, it’s you,” Phil shot back at Maria, feeling self conscious. 

“Romanov tried chatting him up earlier and even then he was glancing over at you,” Maria said, and Phil had the distinct feeling that she was internally rolling her eyes at him. “I don’t think I have the right equipment for what he’s looking for.” 

Phil was sure that his ears were burning red right now. 

“Just go over and talk to him,” Jasper said, exasperated. “The worst he could do is reject you.”

“Thanks,” Phil replied dryly, but he stood up anyways and carefully started making his way over to the bar, trying not to look too eager or apprehensive.

He took a seat next to the man, close enough to be close to, but not quite, touching. The other man turned to look at him, blinking in what might have been surprise for a split second before smiling, shifting to face Phil, their shoulders brushing against each other in the process. Phil shivered at the touch. 

“Hey. You looked like you could use some company,” Phil said, internally wincing as soon as the words left his mouth. Oh god, he was _really_ bad at this. 

The other man blinked at him in surprise again, before bursting out laughing. Phil felt his entire face heat up in embarrassment. He should have never even bothered to try this. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, quickly standing up, trying to retreat as fast as possible, however he was stopped by a hand on his elbow. 

“No – don’t,” the man said, trying to swallow his laughter. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. I’ve just been trying to send you hints all night and by now I was convinced that you weren’t interested. I thought you had come over to tell me off or punch me or something, so…”

“Oh,” Phil replied. “No, I am. Interested, that is. I was just worried that I was misreading the situation.” 

“Ah,” the man said, nodding. “Gotten punched for it before, too?”

No, Phil thought. The last time he’d hit on another guy was back in the nineteenth century in England and he’d almost gotten himself beheaded. 

“Yeah,” Phil replied. “I’m Phil.”

“Clint,” the man offered. Some part of Phil’s brain was sure that that name should mean something to him, but he was rather distracted by Clint’s bright smile and blown pupils shaded by thick eyelashes. 

Phil was completely screwed. 

\---

Phil woke up the next morning feeling pleasantly warm. He buried his face into the soft curve of Clint’s neck, tightening his arms around the other man’s smooth body, tracing an unknown pattern on Clint’s bare hip. Clint let out a soft moan at the sensation, snuggling further into Phil’s body, hands resting on Phil’s chest, back arching as Phil’s fingers ghosted over his spine. Clint sucked Phil’s earlobe gently into his mouth before moving to place wet, open mouthed kisses along the line of Phil’s neck. 

As Clint started moving lower, Phil let out a slightly breathy whine, pulling Clint up abruptly to crash their lips together, flipping Clint over onto his back and pressing him into the sheets. He drew out the kiss, letting it become a little more leisurely, less urgent – wet and sloppy and utterly perfect. Phil drew back to catch his breath, eyes darkening at the sight of Clint spread out on the crisp white sheets, flushed and content. 

“Clint…” he started, planning on maybe telling him how beautiful he looked right now, but all of the sudden his mind caught up to him, and what had been nagging at his conscience since he’d learned Clint’s name the previous night came to the forefront of his memory. Oh shit. 

“Phil?” Clint asked, a bit of concern in his tone as he tried to visibly shake off the haze of lust and sleep that was clouding his mind. 

“Is your name Clinton Francis Barton?” Phil demanded, suddenly serious and a little bit desperate. 

The next thing he knew, Phil was the one on his back, Clint straddling his hips, pressing a gun to Phil’s temple, eyes sharp and cold. 

“How do you know that?” Clint asked, mouth pressed in a hard line, voice carefully neutral but with an undertone of disappointment. “Why are you here? Who sent you?” 

“Clint, calm down,” Phil said, ruthlessly calm, not moving an inch. “That gun’s useless, anyways.” 

“Are you sure you want to test that theory?” Clint questioned, grip on the gun practiced and comfortable. “Answer my questions.”

“Clint…” Phil began, trying to be as nonthreatening as possible before he abruptly flipped them over again. 

The gun went off. 

“Fuck,” Phil muttered, wiping the blood out of his eyes with the back of his hand, spitting out some that had dribbled into his mouth. 

Clint’s eyes widened in shock and panic as he watched the bullet hole in the center of Phil’s forehead steadily stop bleeding and start closing up until the only evidence of the fact that he had just been shot in the head was the excess blood drying on his forehead and smudged over the back of his hand. Phil looked completely calm, not even slightly dazed as he pinned Clint to the bed, taking the opportunity to grab his discarded tie from the previous night and secure Clint’s hands with it. Clint tried to fight him for a few futile moments before realizing that Phil was much stronger than he looked and resigning himself to the fact that he was completely at Phil’s mercy. 

“What _are_ you?” Clint asked softly, equal parts fascinated and terrified. 

“Fate,” he replied simply, looking down at Clint and trying to figure out how to proceed. 

“Well, I guess fate does sneak up on you,” Clint said in a feeble attempt at a joke. 

“Hah,” Phil huffed, a wry smile on his face. “I think you snuck up on me more than I snuck up on you.”

“What?” Clint asked, confused. 

“You’ve been giving me a lot of trouble lately, Clinton Francis Barton,” Phil answered, giving Clint a considering frown. “By my count, you should have died forty seven times by now.” 

“Tell me something I _don’t_ know,” Clint scoffed. “It comes with the business, darling.” 

Phil wasn’t sure if he should be annoyed by the endearment or not. He ignored it. 

“There’s a difference between nearly dying and having your name written in my book,” Phil said, shifting his weight to pin down Clint’s left leg more firmly and stop the other man from trying to unbalance him and throw him off again. Clint shot him a glare. “When I write your cause of death down in that book, it’s final. Permanent.”

“Well, apparently it’s not,” Clint shot back, abruptly bucking his hips, trying to catch Phil off guard, however Fate was barely flustered, rolling with Clint’s thrust, his only distraction the friction it caused between their naked bodies. 

“In the past two hundred and fifty thousand years I’ve had this job there has _never_ been a time that a name has appeared in my book twice,” he said, gritting his teeth. “And somehow _you_ have managed to appear _forty seven_ times.”

“Look, it’s not _my_ fault,” Clint argued, still squirming and trying to twist his hands out of Phil’s tie. “I’m only human. It’s not like I’m _trying_ to mess up your job.” 

Phil froze, causing Clint to still also, looking up at him with a flicker of concern in his expression. 

“I know you’re not,” Phil said softly, an uncomfortable feeling in his chest as he remembered the angry capital letters he’d scrawled in the book last time Clint’s name had come up, his frustrated and tired hand spelling out SUICIDE. It was impossible to write such a thing if the person in question had never contemplated it. 

“Okay, look,” Clint said after a moment. “I don’t know why your magic book thing isn’t working, but holding me here isn’t going to help anything. So do you think that maybe you could let me up so that we can discuss this civilly?” 

“And let you pull another gun on me?” Phil asked, looking vaguely amused. 

“Because that worked so well last time,” Clint shot back, what was almost a pout on his face. “I promise I won’t get any more blood on you. Not one of my kinks, babe.” 

“I’ll let you up if you promise not to run away,” Phil replied after a moment, looking down at Clint with a considering look on his face. “Don’t think I can’t catch you – because I can. I just don’t want to go through all of the trouble of retrieving you.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Clint asked, an amused and slightly predatory look on his face. “If I wasn’t as athletic as I am, I wouldn’t even be able to _walk_ this morning after what we got up to last night.” 

Despite the fact that Phil had been a very active participant in last night’s “activities,” he still felt the tips of his ears heat at Clint’s words, and he was quite certain that his face was at least a little pinker than it had been before. Clint did have a point, though. Phil still planned on taking every precaution. He was careful not to let up his hold on Clint’s body, continuing to pin the other man down with his weight, as he moved to untie Clint’s wrists. However, as soon as Phil had the tie off of Clint’s wrists he put a hand on Clint’s jaw, holding his head in place while he quickly blindfolded Clint with his tie. 

“Hey!” Clint exclaimed, hands immediately reaching up to claw at the blindfold, only to find his wrists trapped by Phil’s strong hands once again. “What are you doing?”

“Taking precautions,” Phil replied calmly. 

He tightened the makeshift blindfold slightly, making sure that it was secure but not so tight that it would hurt Clint. He ran his fingers slowly over the knotted silk at the back of Clint’s head, a light crackle of magic arching from his fingers, rearranging the threads of the tie so that it melded together seamlessly. There. Now Clint had little to no chance of removing it. 

Phil then released Clint’s hands from the tight grip of his other hand and slowly released Clint from the pressure of his weight. The other man flinched slightly as Phil placed a hand on his shoulder, guiding him into an upright position. The flinch turned into a shiver as Phil stroked his writing callused fingers across the bare skin. 

“Wait here,” Phil instructed, still stroking Clint’s shoulder, trying to placate the man. “I need to make a few calls before we do anything else.” 

“Do I have a say in this?” Clint asked, a hint of frustration in his voice. “This is just as much my problem as it is yours.” 

“I’m just going to explain this… predicament to a couple of my colleagues,” Phil explained, standing up from the bed, steadying Clint as he lost his balance slightly, due to the shift of the mattress. “We’ll talk to them more extensively in person.” 

“Colleagues?” Clint questioned, sounding a little apprehensive. “There are more of you?”

“Well, there’s only one Fate,” Phil said, picking up the clothes he’d discarded the previous night and redressing. “There are a lot of Reapers, though. Angels and demons exist, too, as do the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.” 

Phil heard Clint mutter something as he was pulling on his shirt, although it was a bit too quiet for him to hear. The tone suggested that it was a question, though. One he assumed he was supposed to answer. 

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” he said, turning to Clint who was still sitting uncomfortably on the bed, naked except for Phil’s tie acting as a blindfold. “What did you say?”

“Nothing,” Clint said, clearly not wanting to repeat what he’d said. 

“You know, it’s really annoying when people do that,” Phil replied, buttoning his shirt cuffs. 

“Look, it doesn’t really matter,” Clint snapped, grabbing the comforter from the bed and pulling it around his body in a defensive way. “If you needed to know, I’d tell you.”

“You would?” Phil asked, skeptical. (His tone was also a little disappointed. He liked naked Clint.)

“… Maybe not,” Clint conceded, his fingers coming up to tug at his blindfold, dropping back down as he quickly realized that it wasn’t going to budge. “Anyway, if we’re going to be meeting some friends of yours, I’d rather not be buck ass naked. Could you hand me my clothes?” 

Phil didn’t reply, but he knew that the other man could hear him shuffling about the room, gathering his things. He handed Clint his clothes, making no move to help him dress. He didn’t want to patronize the man. It was clear to see that Clint didn’t like being in a position of helplessness and Phil didn’t want to make him any angrier than he already was. It would make both of their lives much easier. 

As Clint was getting dressed, Phil padded softly over to the bathroom. The room was fairly small, but it had a large mirror hanging over the sink. Hopefully it would work for Phil’s purposes. He turned the hot water on, cranking it up as high as it could go. He waited for a few moments, letting it heat up before he tested it with his fingers, pleased that they came back bright red from the temperature. He then grabbed a clean washcloth from the cabinet next to the sink and held it under the water before carefully wiping off the mirror. 

He stepped back, his eyes scanning over the hot water droplets clinging to the reflective surface, making sure everything was in place. He then clearly articulated four words in Latin, watching as the water droplets were quickly pulled together, forming a smooth coat over the center of the mirror. In this pool appeared the image of a pretty woman with strawberry blonde hair. 

“Phil!” she exclaimed, greeting him warmly. “How are you?”

“Not too well, actually,” he replied, trying to force a half hearted smile onto his face. “I need your help with something, actually.”

The woman was about to reply, however someone else shoved their way in front of her side of the mirror. Tony Stark. Phil had to bite back a sigh. 

“Phil? Why did you call him _Phil_?” War asked, his face scrunching up in distaste. “His name is Fate, Pep.” 

Pepper rolled her eyes and tried to shove him back out of the range of the mirror, but Phil could still see him in the corner. 

“Sorry about him. I wasn’t expecting you to call – ” Pepper started, only to be interrupted by Tony again. 

“Oh, hey, so you know how I want to quit being War? Well, I’ve thought of the _perfect_ new job for me!” Tony blabbered on, his eyes lighting up. “I can be Chaos! You know I work well with Pep, and she’s Order, so…” 

“War, we already have a Chaos,” Phil said calmly, trying not to get too frustrated with Tony. 

He’d just had a whole night of really fantastic sex – he should be really relaxed right now. He just needed to find that Zen again. Think of that thing that Clint did with his – okay, never mind. That wasn’t helping him relax. Stop thinking about it. 

“Who?” Tony asked, confused. 

“The solitary one, Banner,” Pepper informed him, pursing her lips as she shot him a “look.” 

“Wait – giant green rage monster?” Tony said, surprised. “I thought he was just – ”

Tony probably finished with something highly offensive, but Phil was distracted as Clint chose that moment to walk into the bathroom. Great. Exactly what he did _not_ need. Why did Tony and Pepper have to be friends? Or, rather, why did Tony have to chose _now_ to go visit Pepper?

“Hey, Phil, is my shirt on backwards?” Clint asked, running his hands over it to try and answer that question for himself. 

Tony wolf whistled. 

“How’d you score this one, Fate? That is a _nice_ ass,” Tony cackled, eyes scanning Clint appreciatively. “You know, I always thought you were way too uptight, but the blindfold? Nice touch.” 

Clint went stock still as he heard Tony’s voice, and Phil could see him trying to determine where exactly it had come from and what in the room he could use as a weapon. Then, he cocked his head to the side and relaxed. 

“You’re not in the room,” Clint stated, although it almost sounded like a question. 

“I’m using your mirror,” Phil said, pausing for a moment before realizing he probably needed to explain a little more. “We communicate with mirrors. It’s like Skype.” 

“Oh,” Clint said, the last of the overt tension dissipating from his body. “Who is he?”

“ _He_ is right here,” Tony snorted, “and he can rip your sexy ass to pieces with just a wave of his hand.” 

“No you can’t,” Phil replied, frowning at Tony disapprovingly. 

“Well, I can get _other_ people to rip him to pieces. I _am_ War, after all,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Phil said, shaking his head, eyes darting over to Clint before looking back at War. “His name has popped up in my book forty seven times already and he’s not dead.” 

“And you decided that if you couldn’t kill him you might as well fuck him?” Tony asked, smirking in a way that made Phil bristle internally. 

“I didn’t know it was him at the time,” Phil protested, becoming a touch defensive. 

“Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?” Pepper asked, a contemplative look on her face. 

“Yes,” Phil confirmed, his posture rigid and uncomfortable. “It’s one hell of a coincidence that I just _happened_ to meet him last night.” 

“And who are you?” Clint asked, turning his head in the direction of Pepper’s voice this time. 

“I’m Order,” Pepper said, smiling warmly, although Clint couldn’t actually see it. “And I don’t believe I’ve gotten to hear your name either…” 

“Clint Barton,” Clint said, returning her smile. “You have a pretty voice.” 

“Thank you,” Pepper replied, however a frown crosser her face. “Phil, why is he wearing a blindfold?” 

“It’s so he doesn’t run away,” Phil admitted, not happy with the situation either. “I figured it would be a good idea after he shot me in the head.” 

“I’m an assassin,” Clint complained, pouting in Phil’s general direction. “When someone knows my full name when I’ve clearly not told them my full name, I tend to get a little paranoid. Plus, you attacked me first.” 

“You were pointing a gun at my head. What was I supposed to do?” Phil said, a little agitated. 

“Anyway,” Pepper interrupted them, bringing them back to the issue at hand. “Have you tried checking with the Reaper on duty? Maybe they just made a mistake when trying to collect his soul or something.”

“I already asked,” Phil replied, frowning. “I guess I could talk to Nick again, though.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Pepper said, nodding. “I would also check with your predecessor, though.” 

“Your predecessor?” Clint asked, confusion evident in his tone. “I thought that there was only one Fate.” 

“The original Fate passed on the job to me around the time that the Roman Empire split off into East and West,” Phil explained. “It was rather unexpected, but it worked out fine.” 

“Wait – so you keep saying that I can’t quit being War, when you’re the _second_ Fate? Hypocrite,” Tony protested, looking disgruntled. 

“You can quit when you find a responsible, stable replacement,” Phil said firmly. 

Tony grinned. 

“You’ll have my resignation papers by the end of the day,” he said gleefully, bounding off eagerly.

“You shouldn’t have told him that,” Pepper sighed. “It’s your own fault when it blows up in your face.”

“As annoying as Tony is, he does good work,” Phil admitted. “If he starts looking for someone to take over his job, he won’t do it halfway. They might not be quite as good as Tony, but they’ll probably be decent. They’ll also probably be more cooperative than Tony.” 

“Ah, the truth comes out,” Pepper laughed. “You just don’t want to deal with him anymore.” 

“You’ve got me,” Phil said, smiling slightly. 

“Anyway, I should let you talk to Fury now,” Pepper said. “Talk to you later?” 

“Of course,” Phil said warmly. 

“Nice to meet you,” Clint chirped, shooting Pepper a dashing smile and leaning up against Phil in a highly distracting way. 

“You too,” she replied before the pool of water went limp and cascaded down the mirror, splashing against the sink. 

“So, who’s Nick?” Clint asked, still leaning against Phil, fiddling with the blindfold again. 

“Death,” Phil said simply, striding out of the cramped room at a brisk pace, slowing down a little as he felt Clint stumble slightly when trying to catch up. 

“Death is named Nick?” Clint said incredulously. “And here I thought all of you guys were supposed to be scary and imposing.” 

Phil spun around abruptly, pinning Clint to the wall, pressing his body all along Clint’s, his mouth directly next to Clint’s ear. His lips brushed against Clint’s pulse and he smirked against the other man’s skin. Clint’s heart was beating faster than a rabbit's and he was trying to disguise how shallow his breathing was after getting the wind knocked out of him. 

“You don’t think I’m scary?” Phil asked, his voice soft and controlled, but he couldn’t help slipping a little bit of his true power into it, delighted by the shivers it elicited from Clint. “Just because I can’t kill you doesn’t mean that I’m powerless. I could strip you down to your vary soul right now without batting an eyelash.

“I could completely _unmake_ you.” 

Then, just as suddenly as he’d pinned Clint, he released him, turning back to walk to the door. He couldn’t help but smirk in satisfaction as he noticed how Clint was rubbing his wrists, tracing the marks that Phil’s tight grip had left behind. 

“Are you coming?” Phil asked, watching Clint flinch slightly but follow him anyway. 

Time to go talk to the Grim Reaper. 

\---

Phil opened the portal in the shadowed alleyway next to Clint’s apartment building. He took Clint’s hand and gently guided him through the swirling passageway to the other realm. Well, Clint couldn’t actually tell that he was heading to another realm, considering he couldn’t see the portal, but Phil figured that his hand on Clint’s wrist might give him at least some warning. 

They reappeared in the corridor outside of Nick’s office. Phil knocked courteously, although Nick probably already knew that he was there. This was confirmed by the fact that the door swung open before Phil had even finished knocking, revealing the spacious office with the Grim Reaper sitting in a comfortable looking black swivel chair. 

“Who the fuck is this?” he demanded before Phil had even stepped three feet into the room. 

Clint’s head snapped around to point in Nick’s direction, and Phil could practically see him straining to hear anything else that would help him properly gauge his surroundings. 

“Clinton Francis Barton,” Phil said simply, watching his best friend’s frown deepen. 

“Well what the fuck is he – ” Nick started, only to be cut off by Clint. 

“Hah!” he exclaimed, grinning lopsidedly. “I recognize that voice. I _knew_ you weren’t a doctor!”

“You shot me in the shoulder,” Nick growled, clearly agitated. 

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I shot Phil in the head,” Clint shrugged. “And it’s not like I knew you were Death. I just thought you were another merc hired to bring back my head on a platter.” 

“I would be happy to put your head on a platter, if that’s what you want,” Nick said, his voice straying into dangerous tones. “And I don’t think I’m the only Reaper in the building who feels that way.” 

“Well, if you guys were better at your job…” Clint said cheekily and Phil had to resist the urge to remove the blindfold and use it as a gag instead. 

“So I take it you don’t know why I ran into him yesterday?” Phil sighed, turning to Nick. 

“No clue,” the Reaper sighed. “I’m afraid I can’t help you with this. I’ve already told you – my whole division is stumped over this.” 

“Well, thanks for your time,” Phil said, disgruntled, turning to leave the room, his shoulder brushing against Clint’s to tell him that they were leaving now. 

“Have you asked Xavier?” Nick called after him, just as he was about to shut the door behind him. 

“I was just about to,” Phil answered, a surprised look in his expression. “Pepper suggested the same thing. Why, do you think he knows something about it?”

“Just a hunch,” Nick said before waving him off. “Now go figure this out before my Reapers start pulling their hair out over the Goddamn Shit Who Won’t Fucking Die.” 

“Will do,” Phil said, smiling. 

\---

Charles Xavier’s house was nothing short of extravagant. It honestly looked like an old British castle, which, Phil supposed, was kind of the point. After all, he was pretty sure that Charles had _invented_ the British accent. Phil started up the long walkway through the cheery garden, Clint following close behind, concentrating on the sound of Phil’s footsteps to guide his way. When they got to the door, Phil looked around for a doorbell, and when he found none, he picked up the heavy knocker and banged it against the thick wooden door a few times. 

He had not expected to be greeted by a tall, almost shark-like man with a severe disposition and steely, calculating eyes. It took him a moment to place the man’s face, realizing that he was Erik Lehnsherr. It was never really talked about, but everyone suspected that the reason Charles Xavier had resigned from his post as Fate was due to this man. 

“I’m not sure if you remember me, but I’m Phil Coulson,” Phil said, trying to break the tension with an unassuming smile. “I’m here to see Charles.” 

“Ah, yes,” Erik said, smiling in a way that only made him look more like a hungry shark. “He said to be expecting you.” 

“Expecting me?” Phil asked, surprised. 

“You know how he is,” Erik shrugged. 

Oh, he knew how Charles was, but apparently not as well as Erik. Was this normal? 

He followed Erik back into the house anyways, making sure to notify Clint of the five stairs leading up to the foyer before continuing after Erik into what looked to be a library. There was a chessboard set out on a small coffee table, the game clearly still in progress. Sunlight streamed through the window and drew Phil’s gaze to the other man in the room, the main sitting in a sleek metal wheelchair. The wheelchair that he’d cited as an excuse for stepping down from his position as Fate. 

“Phil!” Charles exclaimed, beaming at him. “It’s so good to see you again.” 

Phil saw Charles’ gaze stray over to Clint. As soon as Charles saw Clint, his grin seemed to grow even brighter, confusing Phil. What was all this about? Had Charles somehow known about Clint?

“Oh, this is just wonderful!” Charles exclaimed, maneuvering his wheelchair with practiced ease to Clint. “I’ve been waiting for this for some time!”

Before Phil could utter a warning, Charles reached up and, with a spark of magic, undid Clint’s blindfold. The reaction was nearly instantaneous. Clint saw Charles as the weak link and lunged, probably hoping to take him captive and use him as leverage to escape. Phil himself lunged for Clint, hoping to hold him back. Erik lunged for Charles, trying to remove him from Clint’s vicinity. Charles merely snapped his fingers. 

All three of them froze. 

“Now aren’t you just gorgeous,” Charles crooned, smiling at Clint. “You and Phil will go perfectly together!”

Phil had absolutely no clue what his crazy mentor was talking about. 

“It took you long enough, didn’t it?” Charles said, turning to Phil this time. “I was starting to wonder if you didn’t actually have one!”

One what?

“Are you planning on retiring now? You’re not required to, but…” Charles trailed off as he realized he wasn’t getting any answers from Phil. 

He blushed slightly before snapping his fingers again, everyone collapsing on the floor. 

“Oh, I’m sorry about that,” he said a little sheepishly before turning to Clint. “It’s just that you tried attacking me, you see. Erik gets horribly overprotective, and I didn’t want either of you to hurt each other.” 

“Ah, thanks,” Clint said, rubbing his cheek from where it’d smacked against the floor when he’d been released from the spell. 

“Good, good,” Charles said, smiling once again. “I’m Charles Xavier, by the way.”

“Clint Barton,” Clint replied, pulling himself up off the floor. “Sorry, but what exactly were you going on about earlier? I’m kind of confused about this whole not dying thing…” 

“Not dying thi – ” Charles started, confused, before he sucked in a sharp breath in surprise. “Philip J. Coulson you _didn’t!_ You tried to _kill_ your other half?!”

“My other half?” Phil asked, completely confused. 

“Your soulmate,” Charles clarified, looking at Phil in a disappointed parent sort of way. 

“Soulmate?” Phil and Clint exclaimed together. 

“Well, of course,” Charles said, looking at them in confusion. “Wasn’t it obvious when you met him?” 

“His name appeared in the book before I met him,” Phil explained, stealing another glance over at Clint. 

“You never go out, do you?” Charles asked, giving Phil a disapproving look. 

“I was a little preoccupied by the fact that his name kept popping up in the book,” Phil said, a little defensive. “And I have a lot of work to do. There are many more people nowadays than there were back when you were Fate.” 

“And you never thought to go out and find him yourself when his name kept popping up?” Charles asked, shooting Clint an apologetic look. “It’s no wonder the book had to act so drastically.” 

“Wait, could you go back to the whole ‘soulmate’ part?” Clint asked, butting into the conversation. “Because I’m still caught on that part.” 

“Everyone has a soulmate, dear,” Charles said, smiling at Erik fondly. “Even Fate has his own fate.”

“Oh,” Clint said, looking over at Phil and then away again, a light blush coloring his cheeks. “That’s, uh, well, he’s kind of immortal and I’m… not…”

“Not immortal?” Phil said, laughing slightly. “I’ve written down your death forty seven times and even Death himself couldn’t collect your soul. I think that’s kind of the definition of immortal.” 

“I guess…” Clint replied, a thoughtful look on his face. 

“Well, now that you two have gotten that sorted out…” Erik’s said, his rich voice echoing through the room as he glanced pointedly at the half finished chess game on the table. 

“Don’t be rude, Erik!” Charles said, frowning at his soulmate. 

“No, he’s right,” Phil conceded. “We should be going. Ah, thank you for your help, Charles.” 

“Of course,” Charles replied, smiling softly. “I’m just happy you two finally found each other.” 

“Goodbye,” Clint said, giving a short wave and a tentative smile before following Phil out the door. 

As soon as they stepped back out into the garden, Phil stopped. Taking a deep breath, he turned to look at Clint. He slowly looked over the other man, finally understanding the true meaning of the deep feeling that kept tugging at his heartstrings whenever he looked at the man. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before opening them again. 

“I can understand if you don’t…If you don’t want this,” he started, avoiding Clint’s eyes. “This is – sudden, to say the least, and we don’t even know the first thing about each other. Also, I’m very committed to my job, and I really don’t want to give that up – ”

“What makes you think you’d have to give it up?” Clint asked suddenly, catching Phil off guard. 

“Well, it’s very time consuming, and I wouldn’t be able to spend all of my time with you,” Phil started, only to be cut off again. 

“Would I be able to get a job, too?” Clint questioned, a considering look on his face. “Because I’d totally burn down your house in less than a week if I had nothing to do.” 

“You could become a Reaper,” Phil said after a moment, wondering where exactly Clint was going with this train of thought. 

“Sweet!” Clint exclaimed. “Well, let’s go. Where do I sign up?” 

“Wait, you’re okay with…being my soulmate?” Phil asked, caught off guard again, a warm feeling building up in his chest. 

“Well, sure. Why not?” Clint asked, looking at him in confusion. “You’re by far the most interesting person I’ve met, and you’re hot, too. Why not at least try it out? Unless you don’t want to, of course…”

“No! No, that’s fine. It’s fine,” Phil said, seeing Clint start to retreat back into his shell. 

“Great,” Clint said, smiling, before leaning into Phil, hands on his chest, and whispering into his ear. “Plus, I’d really like a repeat of last night.” 

Clint gave him a devilish smirk before turning and walking back down the path away from Charles’ mansion. Phil stared at him, slack jawed, for a moment before hurrying to catch up. He came up behind Clint and wrapped his arms around him, pressing Clint’s back to his chest, his breath ghosting over the shell of Clint’s ear, reveling in the way Clint shivered in his arms. 

“Don’t worry. I’ve already been planning all the different positions I want to fuck you in since this morning. Even if you hadn’t agreed, I’m sure I would have found a way to convince you,” he said, nipping at the soft skin of Clint’s neck before continuing on ahead of him down the path. 

“Coming?” Phil called, looking over his shoulder. 

Clint hurried to catch up. 

\---

Phil glared at the resignation forms that he found lying on his desk the next morning. Natasha Romanov better be as good as Tony said she was, because if she wasn’t as good a Horseman (well, Horsewoman) as Tony was, he’d be dragging Stark’s ass back, romance with an angel or no.


End file.
